The Touch of the Ice
by Kyra Rivers
Summary: Adam was seven when he first went in to see Hans, the skate-sharpener, who to him seemed sage. (OneShot)


_**Title**: The Touch of the Ice_

_**Summary**: Adam was seven when he first went in to see Hans, the skate-sharpener, who to him seemed sage. (OneShot)_

_**Notes**: I never thought I'd actually write a complete Mighty Ducks fanfic, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. But, hey, I had just watched the third movie with a friend and this idea - about how Hans must have known the other Ducks, too - wouldn't leave me alone. And really, who am I to argue with my muse? She so rarely gives me ideas. And as a Minnesotan hockey player and fanfic writer, I really think a Mighty Ducks fanfic was inevitable. So. Yeah. Enjoy._

_**Disclaimer**: Let's just say that Charlie would not be the star if I owned The Mighty Ducks. My God, what a little bitch._

* * *

**The Touch of the Ice**

He was seven when he first went in to see Hans.

His skates were dull and his father had given him a crisp five dollar bill and said, "Go see the skate sharpener and get him to help you, Adam. And don't let them get this dull ever again, you got that? Skates need to stay sharp, so remember to check them."

He had nodded, and he had gone, and soon he was in the skate shop, staring up at an old man who, to him, seemed sage.

"Got skates for me?" the man asked, a cheerful smile crinkling his cheeks. Not used to such obvious friendliness, Adam shuffled his feet nervously and settled for holding his skates out. The man nodded, adding, "I'm Hans. What's your name, lad?"

"Adam," he replied after a moment of hesitation. Adam timidly added, "Adam Banks."

"Nice to meet you, Adam," Hans said, taking his skates and the money, turning toward the cash register to ring him up. Hans continued talking, "New to hockey? It's a good idea to sharpen your skates a lot - helps with your speed, y'know."

Adam nodded, then realized Hans couldn't see him and said, "Yeah, my dad said that."

"Smart man, then," Hans said just before the register dinged and popped open. He exchanged the bills. "Besides, the more you get your skates sharpened, the more I'll see you." He turned back toward Adam, smile still in place. "You seem like a good lad."

Adam couldn't think of anything to say to this, but knew that he didn't remember many times when he had been complimented for doing nothing but being Adam. He shyly smiled. Hans nodded at him.

"Here you are," Hans said, handing Adam some bills. "Three dollars. You can come back and pick up your skates tomorrow if you want. Next time you have practice."

"Thank you," Adam said, taking the money. He paused, then continued, "I'll see you then."

The old man nodded at him. "See you then."

* * *

The years went by, and Adam turned eight, nine, ten, eleven, and Hans was always there.

By this time, Adam had gotten over his shyness, somewhat. He was a Hawk - the Best Hockey Team, capitalized because it was True - and he had friends. He was in the inner circle, which was a welcome relief from when he was the new kid who hadn't done much.

Sometimes Adam wondered what would have happened if he had been a bad hockey player. He didn't really think he'd been in the inner circle, and he wouldn't be as popular as he was at school. But Adam was skilled at ignoring those thoughts and thinking more about how fun it was to finally be accepted.

"I'd like to get my skates sharpened, Hans," Adam said, walking in the shop with familiarity now. He liked the skate shop most of all off the ice, because it still _smelled_ like ice and hockey and wood. It was comforting.

"Back so soon?" Hans asked as he sharpened another pair, pitching his voice just high enough to be heard over the screeching sound. He glanced over at Adam, "You just sharpened them two weeks ago, and you haven't been on the ice that much since then."

"My father and I went skating outdoors," Adam informed, leaning on the edge of the counter. "There's a river not far from my house and it just froze over! My dad took a day off of work and _everything_, Hans; isn't that great?"

The man's cheeks crinkled. "Sounds delightful, lad."

"It was awesome," Adam enthused. He glanced at his skates, adding, "But now they're really dull, because skating outdoors is way different from on regular ice. But - I mean - still, it was worth it."

"Skating outdoors is how it's supposed to be," Hans said, finishing up with the skate he was working on and setting on the shelf. "It's nice having indoor rinks, because the ice is always there, but outside?" Hans' eye twinkled, and he raised an eyebrow. "Outside is magical, Adam. The air is cold, the ice is steady, and you can see the world around you. Nothing quite compares to skating outside." Hans punctuated his statement with a confirming nod.

Adam sighed, nodding with the old man. "Definitely."

A moment of reverent silence passed before Hans held out his hands for Adam's skates, which were still tossed over his shoulder. "I'll take those then," Hans said, stepping toward him. Adam handed them over. "You'll be needing 'em by tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah," Adam replied. He waved as he turned, just now remembering that his father awaited in the car. "I'll see you then, Hans!"

"See you then, Adam."

* * *

Nearly a month later, and things had taken a turn for the worse.

"I can't believe I'm a _Duck_, Hans. A DUCK."

Adam was sitting on the counter, staring morosely at the floor, as Hans puttered around the back of the shop. He was waiting for his father - who had dropped him off to get his skates sharpened and would be back in fifteen minutes, tops - and did not feel like pouting alone.

"And what's so bad about being a Duck, Adam?" Hans asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"_Everything_."

"Everything?"

Adam paused, staring out the window in annoyance. He replied, "Well. I mean. Coach Bombay isn't that bad - for a beginner. He's nicer than Coach Reilly."

Hans said nothing, but he stopped moving around and listened attentively.

"But," Adam continued, "everyone _hates_ me. I know why, but - really, I work _really_ hard in practice, just like they do! And I'm a lot better than all of them, and if that's why they don't like me, I don't think they should complain so much about us loosing all the time. We haven't been - as much, really - since I came! What's the problem?"

"Perhaps they are intimidated," Hans offered, looking sympathetic. "Or frustrated that they could not win quite as easily until you came."

"They shouldn't take it out on me," Adam muttered. "I didn't ask to be put on their team - the league forced me to. And it's not like I'm being stupid about it - I mean - I don't care who I play for, as long as I get to play. That's all that matters. To me, that is."

"To you?" Hans queried gently. The skate shop seemed a little too quiet, the wooden boards creaking audibly under Hans' feet, and Adam looked everywhere but at the old man before answering.

"Well," began Adam, looking nervous. He glanced at the door. "Sometimes. I mean - my dad, he - he doesn't like it when we lose. He gets really angry and starts - like, yelling and griping about everything that happened. How my team played, how the other team played, how the refs were, how my coach did, h-how I played." He offered a shaky smile to Hans, who wasn't smiling at all. "He and Coach O'Reilly were really close, back when I was a Hawk. And - he was really into my games. But now..."

Adam glanced back at the door, and then at the clock. He looked back at Hans and continued, "Now he's missed a lot of the games. He says its work, but - I think it's that he's _ashamed_ of me or something. And he doesn't like the parents anymore, because I bet they don't like me just as much as their kids don't. You understand, Hans?" Adam felt more open and nervous than he had in a long time.

He waited anxiously for Hans' reaction.

Hans paused before answering, face set in a slight frown. The right side of his face was shadowed, set off by the lamp, and Adam couldn't see his eyes.

"Hans?" Adam prodded.

"I understand, Adam," Hans finally said, and Adam relaxed. Hans gave him a level stare, continuing, "Don't worry about the team, Adam - they'll come around. I'm sure they will."

Adam grinned, tentatively. "Thanks, Hans. It's nice to know someone thinks so."

He said nothing else. Thirty minutes later, Adam's father pulled up, honking the horn so loudly that Adam nearly fell off the counter. Adam waved a quick goodbye and dashed out.

He felt Hans' eyes on his back as he left.

* * *

The season finished, the Ducks won, and the summer progressed.

The Junior Goodwill Games came and went, Adam played well, and the entire team received scholarships to Eden Hall Academy.

"Can you believe it, Hans?" Adam asked, leaning over the counter - he was much too big to sit on it now - and grinning at the familiar sight of Hans sharpening skates. "Eden Hall is really elite - I'm still amazed we got scholarships."

Hans smiled back at him, replying, "It is a great thing, Adam. But the Ducks deserve it - you've worked hard."

"I know we have," Adam admitted, "but I'm still thrilled. My dad was really happy about it, too - I think he was thinking of sending me to Eden Hall anyway, but now he doesn't have to pay for it." He rolled his eyes, adding, "A Republican to the end, my dad. He likes his money."

"And you don't, Adam?" Hans asked. It wasn't an insult, as it may have seemed if uttered by another person, but this was Hans, and Adam just shrugged.

"Not really," he replied. He caught Hans' raised eyebrow and added, "Don't get me wrong, it's nice having good-quality stuff. I certainly wouldn't want to be poor. But-" Here Adam hesitated, staring pensively out the window. He looked back. "I don't know. I think there are more important things in life."

Hans smiled at him. "Such as?"

"Like... friends," Adam said, "and family. And... the Ducks, I guess. Everyone is kind of there for each other, no matter what. It's not about money or anything, really. And did you know, Guy's parents come to every single one of his games?" Adam frowned. "I wish my dad wasn't so busy, Hans. I'd rather have him watching me than have a Playstation."

"There are many more things better than Playstations," Hans agreed, nodding sagely. "We didn't even have them when I was a lad."

Adam laughed. "Hans, I bet they didn't even have cars when you were a lad."

"Nothing like you have today," Hans agreed. "But we did have friends and family. Back in the old country, that was all that mattered."

Adam nodded mutely, smiling half-heartedly.

"Adam."

"Hm - yeah?"

"It's not just in the old country that friends and family are what matters."

"...yeah, I know. Thanks, Hans."

* * *

And there were tryouts, and Coach Orion, who Adam felt admiration and a little pity for.

And there was varsity, and Riley, who Adam felt fear and irritation toward.

And there were the Ducks, who were torn between befriending Adam and leaving him.

And there was Charlie, who Adam was pretty sure he Hated.

"I can't believe it, Hans," Adam said.

He had brought his skates to get sharpened at Hans', despite there being a perfectly viable skate sharpener at the school's rink. Sharpening was somewhat of an art, and Adam had _always_ gotten them sharpened at Hans', with the exception of the Goodwill Games tournament, where everyone sharpened their skates at the same place. Adam was not about to trust his skates to some part-time working college kid when Hans was but a bus ride away.

"Oh?" Hans asked over the whir of the blade. "Has varsity been weighing you down?"

"No - not really," Adam said, fidgeting slightly. "It's not varsity - I can keep up. It's not that bad, and I like the coach fine. But - the rest of the Ducks. It's like I can't be their friend anymore, just because O'Brian put me on varsity."

"What about Charlie?" Hans asked, knowing the friendship between the two.

"Charlie _especially_," Adam said, eyes bright. "He just - he's the worst out of them all, Hans! It's like I betrayed him or something by being put on varsity. And he just assumes that now I'm all buddy-buddy with them all, even when I'm completely not. I mean, Riley has-"

Adam cut off abruptly.

"Riley?" Hans questioned, looking concerned.

"Nothing," muttered Adam. "Forget I mentioned it." He paused, fishing frantically for something to say, and didn't know where to continue. Finally, he added, "I just don't know what to do. I - I don't make friends very easily, Hans, and it's really hard to keep going to Eden Hall and feeling like I'm in the middle of the war. The only people who even say 'hi' to me anymore are Julie and Guy, and - even then - I mean..." He broke off.

"I'm sure it will get better, Adam," Hans said.

Adam nodded resolutely but didn't say anything, opting instead to stare out the window at the dimming sunlight; the refection glimmered a bit too much in his eyes.

Suddenly, Adam felt arms around his shoulders and he blinked, feeling the hot sting of unshed tears behind his eyes. Hans was hugging him, patting him gently on the back, and it struck Adam as startling that he had not known how much he wanted just that. The last time anyone had comforted him about - anything - in a way that was at all supportive - ...Adam wasn't sure he could remember.

Adam leaned his head into Hans' shoulder and didn't quite cry, but let his eyes well up with tears.

"I don't know what to do, Hans," he whispered. Hans patted his back gently, and Adam wondered why he couldn't tell this sort of thing to his father.

"You'll get by, Adam," Hans murmured back, firm and caring, like how Adam imagined a grandfather would. "You always do." For a second, Adam thought he could hear anger in Hans' voice, but he dismissed it. Hans was never angry

For a moment they sat in semi-silence, thinking.

"...thank you, Hans."

* * *

It was 6:30 in the morning when Adam found out, just after his morning practice and shower. Guy, his roommate, was still at his practice; probably still showering, in fact. Adam was reaching for his US History book when he saw a blinking light on his answering machine. He pressed it and began searching for his homework on the floor.

_"Adam, it's Mom. We just received word that Hans - you know, the skate sharpener at the rink that you like? Well. Honey, he passed away this morning-"_

Adam froze. Dimly, he heard his mother continued to talk about funeral arrangements and details, but he didn't care. All he could think of was that Hans - _his_ Hans, the one older person who Adam thought he could rely on without question - Hans was dead.

The rest of the day went by in a blur.

* * *

Adam didn't pay attention at the funeral.

He did, but he didn't. He looked very attentive, at the very least - very formal, very sincere, very polite. But he didn't talk and he didn't listen to anything the minister said. He noted blankly when Bombay arrived and murmured something, but that wasn't important - Bombay was Charlie's "dad." Adam had never mattered quite as much, but it didn't matter. Bombay had never mattered quite as much to Adam, either.

He was paying attention, however, when Charlie brushed by him and muttered, "Why are you even here, you _traitor_?"

And Adam gave up. Not caring if anyone saw them - most people leaving by then, anyway, and they were away from the graveyard , Adam turned around and grabbed Charlie fiercely by the collar. Charlie, clearly not expecting it, allowed himself to pulled in and stared at Adam in surprise.

"You listen to me," Adam hissed, eyes narrow and angry, and full of tears that he hadn't cried for Hans. "You - you -" Adam took a breath and continued, "I don't care _what_ you think about me, Charlie. I don't care about any kind of _stupid_ vendetta you have against me because I'm on varsity, you got that? I don't _care_.

"But don't you _dare_ insult Hans' death because of it, Charlie," Adam snapped. "Don't you DARE. Because Hans helped me just like he must have helped you." Adam scoffed slightly, arms trembling as they held Charlie up to his face. "You are _not_ the center of the goddamned universe, Conway."

He released Charlie and concentrated instead on not crying. Charlie looked as if he wanted to say something, but Adam didn't let him; he turned away and walked off the hill, toward his parents' car. He knew Charlie would try to follow, but also knew that Guy was nearby and would not let him.

Guy had been the one to find Adam after the phone call, eyes red and shoulders tense. He had been tactful enough not to say anything, for which Adam was thankful.

Adam spent that night in his own bed, in his own room, trying his best to get his act together again.

* * *

And life went on.

There were scandals and court issues, and Adam was suddenly back on J.V., where he wasn't quite as comfortable as he had been, but it was better than with Riley and the varsity team. Charlie was better - somehow, Bombay had forced him to see things sensibly. Charlie never approached Adam about Hans again, but he apologized in more subtle ways. Adam appreciated it.

They played the Varsity team and touched the ice beforehand, and Adam remembered how Hans thought skating outdoors was the best feeling in the world. He vowed to do so that winter.

And the J.V. won, miraculously, and their season continued and ended. Adam finished freshmen year with the rest of his team, ready to return the following fall.

And life went on.

And Adam got by, as he always did.


End file.
